


sink

by moonboots



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Non-Consensual, Prostate Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 21:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonboots/pseuds/moonboots
Summary: Hanneman is eager to research the exquisitely rare Crest that Seteth bears.





	sink

**Author's Note:**

> ...mind the tags, is all I'm going to say in my defense. Spoilers.

"I would not have requested anything like this of Flayn, I assure you." Hanneman had the nerve to look apologetic, as if all this wasn't precisely at his asking.

Seteth grunted. He was undressing as slowly as possible, but giving Hanneman more time to ramble was almost as much of a punishment as submitting himself as a research subject in the first place.

"If it helps, I never intended to speak to her at all. If you hadn't reacted in such a telling manner I would have dropped the subject entirely."

There was no way that Hanneman would have really dropped it, but maybe Seteth could have bought himself a few more years to find a new life to flee to if he'd kept a cooler head. He ground his teeth silently. Was this a punishment, then? Flayn had told him so many times to cease his hovering. It would be a cruel, yet just penance to be caught because of the protective instinct he'd been warned about more than once.

"The trousers too, if you please."

"_ Must _ I be naked?" Though he had agreed to this for Flayn's sake, he couldn't stop one final protest from bursting out of him.

"I'm afraid so." Hanneman's gaze was sympathetic, half hidden behind his monocle. "I don't know what could be different, so I must observe everything. You don't have a human body, after all."

A thrill of fear rippled through Seteth and it was suddenly hard to swallow. He hid the tremor in his hand by jerking his trousers open more sharply than necessary. Hanneman would not kill him, he was--mostly sure. But it had been years untold since someone else candidly spoke of what he was. Since Indech had gone to sleep? Since he'd finally found Rhea? He'd grown too complacent, cocky.

The stone floor was cold against his bare feet.

"That's why I had to ask like this," Hanneman offered. "I knew I'd have to be quite certain to make you take a human seriously."

"I've never looked down on humans," Seteth said sharply, whirling around.

"Really?" Hanneman's bushy eyebrows went up in surprise. "You have a shrine in the cathedral, and you don't look at us differently at all?"

"That's not…" He hesitated, then hastily folded his trousers and slapped them on the chair with the rest of his clothing. "I don't tell humans who to worship."

"But you also don't tell us not to, Cichol." Hanneman nibbled thoughtfully at the end of his quill and laid out a roll of parchment, weighting one end with a candlestick. Seteth's heart sank. He had hoped--naively--that this process wouldn't include notes. It had been idiocy to expect anything other than meticulous documentation from Hanneman.

And then he realized something else: he had never told Hanneman his identity.

It was a simple deduction at that point, he told himself. The only holder of the Crest of Cichol, ageless, part of an unusual bloodline--and he'd confirmed it himself by falling right into Hanneman's trap once more. He hadn't denied that he wasn't human, and he hadn't denied that he had a shrine in the cathedral.

"Let's get this over with," he said, tired. He stood bare, but it wasn't the lack of clothing that made him feel naked.

"You don't need to be uncomfortable," Hanneman chided. "Come, stand on the carpet." He set his quill to parchment, then paused and looked up with a curious light in his eye. "You _ do _ feel the cold, yes?"

"Yes," Seteth ground out. The last thing he wanted was to willingly let Hanneman order him around. Still...the floor _was_ cold. He stepped just past the edge of the carpet.

"I see, I see." Hanneman gave his body a long, long look.

Hanneman didn't seem to expect him to possess human shame. How foolish for a scholar. After all, this form had been his only body for so long that he had absorbed plenty of human habits. He took care of it as a human would, as well; his skin was pale from being hidden under the thick robes he preferred, but it was not the unmarked porcelain of an immaculate one. It had been--once. Many years and many scars had passed since then.

Hanneman scribbled notes furiously. "I've rarely known you to take injury," he said. It could have been a question or an observation.

Seteth assumed the former. "I have a vast breadth of experience, but I am no more durable than yourself."

"Truly?" Hanneman reached out and tested the skin of his chest, finding it firm and springy. Seteth bit his lip to choke back a furious gasp. "But you don't complain of age."

Hanneman was running his fingers over Seteth's scars as if he'd been invited. Well, he technically _ had _ been. Seteth could barely keep still. It had taken until now to realize that Hanneman had shed his usual gloves and it was the old professor's bare, papery hands cupping his pectorals. "That's different. My blood protects me from feeling the weight of my years, not a mace to the skull."

"Now that you mention it, I do recall...hmm, thirteen years ago now? You took quite the grievous head wound from those raiders. That damage could not have been an act. Lady Rhea insisted on healing you herself." Hanneman's fingers parted his thick hair. "Aha!"

Cool air bit the pointed tips of Seteth's ears. That had been half of the reason Rhea handled his treatment; the other half was that he'd been moaning for his wife and daughter. Seteth had no memory of the incident, only hearing about it from Rhea after waking up in the infirmary some days later.

"The statue of Saint Cichol does not have these." Hanneman touched his ear and Seteth nearly swallowed his tongue.

This was the most intimately close anyone had been to him since...since..._ her _. Rhea's healing hands had been gentle and motherly. Hanneman's fingers ran over him in shameless curiosity, rubbing the soft point between thumb and fingertip. He was leaning down, so close that Seteth could feel the warm puffs of his breath.

Seteth's face was aflame and he only half-heard Hanneman's question. "We all have them," he said in a rush. "But--don't--please--"

Instantly Hanneman drew back. "Was that painful?" he asked in concern, searching Seteth's face.

"No." Still, Seteth could not bear to look him in the eye. The evidence was clear on his body.

"...Ah."

The quill scratched against parchment once more.

"This is fortuitous," Hanneman said brightly. "I was going to ask for fluid samples anyway."

"Fluid sa--?" Hanneman's hand closed around his growing erection. "No!" Seteth shoved him away. "Are you mad?!"

"It's merely a sample," Hanneman said with a casual wave of his hand. "So much magical energy accumulates in the fluids of the body. Even Byleth allowed me a few drops of blood in order to study that fascinating Crest. You yourself should well know that the Crest of Cethleann originates from a blessing of her blood."

"_ That's _ not blood," Seteth snapped.

"Of course it isn't." The scholar nodded, as if Seteth was a student who'd unwittingly provided him with a teachable moment. "As such, it will have completely different magical properties. You have nothing to fear regarding its proper use; a single emission would not provide nearly enough material to bestow a Crest blessing. If that's even possible." Hanneman stroked his beard in thought. "My hypothesis is that because your form is locked into one that isn't divine, your progenitor status has degraded to an equivalence of a mere Major--"

"You're not getting-_-that! _"

"Didn't you promise to assist me with all research?" Hanneman frowned. "I would never have expected a saint to go back on his word."

My word means exactly as much as yours, Seteth wanted to snarl, but there was a lump in his throat. He had not missed the casual mention of Cethleann.

"...I'll do it." Seteth's voice creaked like brittle, ancient wood. "Just--must you touch me? Can't I do it myself?"

"That doesn't provide much information on sensitivity or stimulation. But, perhaps...I could do it without touching your manhood?"

"Fine." Any port in a storm.

"Excellent, excellent." Hanneman moved to search his desk, but his questions didn't cease. "I have heard that you're immune to poison?"

Seteth started. "Who--?"

"Manuela told me you were bragging about your exceptional alcohol tolerance."

"That's not what I said," Seteth muttered, embarrassed. Did the professor know every detail of his life? "I said--not _ much _ effect. Enough, and I'll feel it. Of anything. It's not as though I could survive drinking hydrargyrum."

Hanneman was nodding to himself. "Hmm, yes. Interesting. That level of hardiness...the mucous of the throat? The stomach acid? If that could be extracted and replicated…"

Seteth heard _ extracted _ and his mouth went dry. He tried to think of anything but the ancient sword Rhea's new professor held.

"In any case, please drink this." Hanneman thrust a small flask at Seteth.

He did not take it, eyeing it warily. "Why? What is it?"

"It will ease this process."

"That tells me nothing."

Hanneman sighed. "Seteth, I can tell you're quite uneasy. I simply wish to make this as painless as possible for you. This is something like an extremely concentrated liqueur. It should help even _ you _ relax enough to make this easier."

Seteth continued to stare suspiciously at it. "Why do you have this? You made it?"

"For my own use, of course. You're not the only one with a resistance to the vine. By the time I've come to properly enjoy my wine, I'm due for a trip to the privy. At my age…" Hanneman coughed and cleared his throat politely. The specifics of the privy were too crass for a conversation in which Seteth was already naked, it seemed. "So, I brewed up something a little stronger. A dash in my cup, and one bottle can last months. You don't _ have _ to take it, but I believe it will help."

There was another awkward silence. When Hanneman shifted, Seteth reached out and took the flask. Goddess, he wanted this over.

He barely tasted the cloying, sweet liquid as he drained the flask.

"What now?"

"Simply bend over here." Hanneman had cleared a space on his desk, though his attention was on the parchment as he scrawled out more notes.

Seteth wanted to argue. This was absurd, invasive, demeaning. But he could already see it in his mind's eye; he would object, and Hanneman would kindly but inexorably explain once more to him that he had no other choice.

Seteth bent over the desk.

The quill continued to scrape against the parchment for long seconds that dragged into minutes, leaving Seteth painfully aware that he was bent over a desk with his ass in the air solely at Hanneman's whim. At least he could rest his forehead against his folded forearms and hide briefly in the dark.

"If only I had a scribe," mumbled Hanneman, then seemed to remember that Seteth was there. "But worry not, I wouldn't bring another into this."

Oh. Good. _ Only _ Hanneman would see him in this state. A hysterical laugh threatened to bubble out of Seteth's chest. When he shivered to suppress it, however, the slight shift made his head...tilt. He was fairly certain he hadn't done more than shift in place, but in his mind he felt like he'd fallen. He clutched the desk. "Hanneman? I…"

"Oh, excellent." He could hear the smile in Hanneman's voice. "This, dear Seteth, is 'drunk'. Or, a close chemical approximation. You can expect some dizziness, light-headedness, and muscle weakness. Please, speak up if something feels more wrong than that."

"Why…?" Was this what Manuela felt like all the time? Goddess, what drove her to do this to herself?

Inexplicably, Hanneman chuckled. "I don't think you're in a state to have a proper debate about this curious foible of human nature."

Seteth did not see what was funny but he could not argue that he was in his right mind, either. He opted to close his eyes instead, feeling strangely like he was drifting on the waves of the ocean.

The touch against his ass was something like a slick, cold tongue. Or a bony worm. A finger, he realized, after it ran between his cheeks to find his hole.

He'd known where this was going. He'd always known, but he couldn't stop the uneasy whine in his chest.

"Don't worry, don't worry." Hanneman patted his hip, leaving a cold, wet patch. "It'll be quick."

Hanneman was already rubbing a finger against his hole, smearing the slick generously. And then, suddenly, it slid inside, and Seteth could only give a muffled yelp.

"I'm sure it's been some time." Hanneman's tone was soothing. "The drink helps."

Seteth was both horrified and fascinated by the finger in his ass. He was abundantly sure it wasn't supposed to be there, but it didn't hurt. Even when Hanneman began to slide it in and out it was more strange and uncomfortable than anything else.

One thing was wrong, though. He was supposed to tell Hanneman when he was wrong. "No," he said. Talking took an unusual amount of focus. So many things about Manuela suddenly made sense. "No, I...never."

"Oh?" Hanneman asked mildly, as if they were chatting over coffee. "Only women, then?"

"Only her." Another finger was rubbing against his hole. He was briefly fascinated by the feeling of knowing precisely what was about to happen and choosing to do nothing to stop it. "She was human. I'd never...look down on humans."

It was quiet.

"...I'm sorry." Hanneman's voice was gentle as the second finger penetrated him.

Now there were sparks of pain, but his body didn't seem to be inclined to do anything about it. Seteth decided that he wasn't, either.

He could feel his body stretching around Hanneman's fingers, though, and could not stop his shudder.

"Is that why you're trapped in this form?" Still that soft questioning.

"Yes." That wasn't the whole story, not by halves, but it was simple enough when his tongue wouldn't cooperate. "I'd do it again. For her."

"I never imagined." There was a moment of something almost like peace as he adjusted to Hanneman's hand. The dark calmed him. No wonder hooded hawks didn't mind waiting on human hands. 

Hanneman wasn't trying to poke another finger in yet, which Seteth appreciated. Instead he seemed content to carefully push his fingers in and drag them out, almost hypnotic--

"Ah!" Seteth's eyes flew open and for a moment he could not understand why he was staring at mahogany grain from half an inch away.

"Here we are." Hanneman's voice was chipper again. The dark had never happened. Had he been dreaming?

Hanneman did the same thing again, this time more slowly. It felt like a delicate finger running against his cock--from the inside. "Wha-what--"

"Perfectly normal bodily function," Hanneman assured him. It seemed as though he'd figured out how to hit that spot with scientific precision and did it once more, leaving Seteth shivering. "Just enjoy it, my boy."

There was little else Seteth _ could _ do. He was getting hard as Hanneman continued to thrust his fingers in just the right way, regardless of the humiliating circumstances. It was as though Hanneman had ripped him open and found all his tightly-clutched secrets in seconds, and was now helping himself to the rest.

Seteth clutched the desk and rested his sweaty forehead against its cool surface. When had he gotten so hot? The grain shifted and twisted into waves in front of his eyes, so he squeezed them shut once more. His gasps were getting thicker, more and more of his voice bleeding into them. His slack body was winding up now, and he felt himself tighten around Hanneman's fingers.

"There we go."

What _ was _ this? What kind of filthy puppet had he become? He managed to drag a hand back from the corner of the desk where he'd been desperately trying not to fall off the world in an attempt to muffle himself. All of him trembled, pulled tight as a bowstring. 

There was suddenly the icy touch of glass against the tip of his cock. Hanneman _ pressed _ inside him, and he buckled.

He bit his knuckles as he came in a pathetic attempt to silence his cry. It was a strange orgasm, like he was using muscles he never had before. Strong but weak, as weak as the tremulous voice that leaked past his hand.

"Let it out. The office next to mine is empty."

He felt like he could do no more--hadn't he released already?--but the tension hadn't left him and Hanneman's fingers were still pumping and he felt himself drip again. Why wasn't it ending? He wailed, the moan of a wounded animal. Still, the fingers did not stop. "Haahn--Hanne--"

"You'll feel better afterwards." Reassuring. Mollifying. Patting his hip.

The fingers thrust and made Seteth drip again. Again. All of him that was wound tight was beginning to give way.

The office was spinning.

* * *

"Brother!" There was a cry and something like a sack of grain hitting him in the chest before he'd quite finished waking up.

"Flayn, do you want him to stay here even longer?" a woman scolded.

Seteth's eyelids were unbearably heavy, but he had heard Flayn's voice and she sounded upset, so he dragged them open anyway.

Flayn had become very tall, suddenly. Or-_-was _ it Flayn? The hair color was wrong, but perhaps it was a trick of the light and he'd get to reach up and tangle his fingers in those dark curls once more.

He tried but his hand stopped halfway, caught between two smaller ones.

Soft. Not hers.

"Brother!" Flayn wailed. It was certainly Flayn, standing over him with tears welling up in her eyes. Seteth forgot that he'd just been unconscious and had no idea what was going on and surged to his feet, because if Flayn was crying he needed his axe.

Or, he tried to. He managed to sit up and the world violently tilted without warning, sending him slumping against Flayn.

"Hey, hey! Calm down! Didn't anyone tell you you're an invalid?"

He finally placed the piercing voice and turned to see Manuela's breasts hanging over him, and then up to Manuela herself. The room resolved into the familiar infirmary.

"What...happened?" Every single one of his muscles was sore, he realized as Flayn helped him lay back down. His head throbbed to match.

"I'm afraid this is my fault entirely." He hadn't realized Hanneman was in the room until he spoke. The elderly professor's brow was creased with guilt. "Seteth was assisting me with some Crest research. I was testing a new type of magic-infused vulnerary and--"

"You poisoned my brother?!" Flayn was across the room in a flash, small fists flying. "You are supposed to be a researcher, not an incompetent barkeep serving fouled drinks!"

"No violence in the infirmary," Manuela said as she caught Flayn by the collar--but not before letting her get a few hits in. It was so rare that Hanneman was the irresponsible one, after all. "I hate it when people make more work for me."

"It's richly deserved," Hanneman sighed. "I was too excited when I thought I had something right."

Flayn fumed, but Manuela put a hand on her head and steered her towards the door. "Why don't we go make sure your brother's room is set up for a nice, long nap? All he needs is rest, but we wouldn't want him to trip over a Saint Cethleann icon and end up back here." She winked at Seteth over her shoulder.

He groaned as the door clicked shut. He was only just processing that Flayn was safe and _ he _ was the one flat on his back in the infirmary. A new headache was growing. She would never let him live it down.

"Seteth." Hanneman stepped forward, looking deeply worried. "All of this is my fault."

"Don't blame yourself overmuch." Seteth massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I'm sure that whatever we were researching, I thought it a worthy enough task to accept the risk."

Hanneman paused. "You...don't remember?"

"I'm afraid not. I know I was meeting you, but little else." Everything was scrambled in his mind. He wasn't even sure he'd eaten breakfast today and the headache wasn't stopping. After nearly falling on his face just trying to sit up, he wasn't eager to argue Manuela's diagnosis.

"...I see." An expression Seteth could not place passed over Hanneman's face. Shame, probably. He was always so confident with his research. "In that case, you're so pale. I should leave you to rest."

Seteth wasn't going to argue, but hated giving in to weakness on principle. "You can fill me in on our work tomorrow."

"Yes, of course." Hanneman paused at the door.

"Sleep well."


End file.
